


Of the Genus Santalum

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Post Murder and Mozzarella, Smut, Terrible food puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: What might have happened after Jack appeared with that bottle of wine?





	Of the Genus Santalum

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's riddle was pinched unashamedly from American Gods (book) by Neil Gaiman although in his version it was wild strawberries.
> 
> Santalum acuminatum - more commonly known as a quandong, native peach, desert peach, or wild peach, is native to Australia including Victoria. Not only is it a nice bright red to match Phryne's lipstick, it is also a hemiparasitic plant in the sandalwood family, and there's just too much combined fannon and cannon in that little collection of facts not to include the reference.
> 
> I've never tried one myself, they don't seem that popular outside of Australia but if anyone wants to chime in and tell me what they taste like I'd love to know!
> 
> Many thanks to Geenee27 for being a fantastic beta!

Jack licked his lips nervously as he made his way up the path to Wardlow. He could still taste Concetta’s lips on his, and the thought that he might have been a cause of pain for her flickered guiltily through his soul. Nevertheless, he was certain that he had made the right choice.

It could break him.

It could break them.

But he could not go another night without at least acknowledging this – whatever it was – between him and Phryne. That unspoken yet powerful connection, an unnamed but palpable reality that would not let him take the simple road.

He had wanted to. No. He had wanted to want to; wanted so badly to be able to extinguish the tempting, torturous fire that consumed his soul, like the unwary moth drawn to a flame that would destroy him, but he knew that was not an option. Concetta had been right, for better or worse his heart was taken, and it was more than time he did something about it.

* * *

Phryne sat in her parlour, the strains of _Donne e Mobile_ flowing from the gramophone. It was a song intended as satire, and therefore it seemed especially cruel to her how close to home it struck.

_Woman is flighty_

_Like a feather in the wind_

_She changes in voice and in thought_

_Always miserable_

_is he who trusts her_

_he who confides in her his unwary heart_

She had always prided herself in her honesty when it came to sex. She knew what she wanted, and she made that clear. Any man who decided that his love for her compelled her to a commitment she had no intention of making? Well, that was his own affair, and most certainly his own problem.

Now though. With Jack…

She wanted him. Not just carnally, although she very much did. She found herself thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to him. To have breakfast in bed. To spend lazy evenings together reading and occasionally distracting each other with choice extracts…or other things.

How long could such feelings last? She knew herself to be mercurial, forever doffing and donning a different persona as easily as she changed hats. It was a quality she not only relished but took pride in. She had never sought, or given a fig for anyone else’s opinion on the subject, and did not intend to start now.

Consistency, stability, a dutiful wife? These were not traits she possessed, and she had neither desire nor inclination to acquire them. And yet she would fully understand if Jack had chosen that over her. What could she offer in place of that kind of commitment? All of my love until it is over? Or worse, all of my love until I lie to you? Or much, much worse, all of my love until there is nothing of me left?

She closed her eyes, sighed and ... did... not... cry.

He would choose Concetta, and she would be happy for them. Perhaps she could become friends with Jack’s new wife, she seemed like a kind, intelligent woman, and Phryne made a point of always associating with such people whenever she found them. The thought brought a lump to her throat and she forced it down.

This was the life she chose. A life where she was free. If he could not accept that, it was better they remain friends. Better she not break him. Better she not break herself for him.

_Lies._ Lies and cold comfort. But with enough force of will she could turn them into truth; like bitter coal, crushed by time and pressure into diamonds. She had been through worse. She would survive, she always did.

There was a knock at the front door; she looked up just as Mr Butler introduced the inspector. Jack entered, a bottle of red wine in hand. His demeanour was relaxed, confident, and he was smiling that mysterious, almost invisible smile that she loved. It was an invitation to dance if ever she’d seen one. He did not look like a man about to tell her that he was taking up with someone else, and she felt she knew him well enough to be sure of his honesty in that regard.

Still, she needed to be sure.

“Not eating Italian tonight?”

“Stranos is closed.”

“Looks like you’ll have to make do with me.”

“Looks like we’ll have to make do with each other.”

He presented the bottle to her, a peace offering of sorts, she supposed.

“In that case – Mr Butler, could you fetch us some...? Ah, perfect.”

The man had appeared carrying two crystal wine glasses on a small tray, which he placed on the side table with a nod, before retreating to the kitchen, shutting the parlour doors discreetly behind him.

Jack was watching her, his warm blue eyes drinking her in. It was terrifying if she thought about it too hard, the way he could look at her with such _surety_, precisely at the moments when she felt unsure about herself. It was like being a bird on the wing, presented with a safe branch to land on. If she let herself, she could become far too dependent upon it.

Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, she busied herself opening the wine and fussing over whether it should be allowed to breathe before pouring, which she eventually did, taking a deep draught to cover her nervousness.

“Phryne?”

The use of her given name cut through her agitation like good kitchen steel.

“Yes Jack?”

He had taken a seat on the chaise, and whatever was on his mind he did not appear to want to keep it to himself. She was not at all sure what she would do if this was to be some kind of ultimatum – if he intended to force issues she had not yet resolved in her own mind.

“I was hoping for your help.”

“A case?” she deflected, still uncertain.

“More of a puzzle. Or perhaps a riddle.”

“Well you know I can’t resist a puzzle.”

His lip twitched as the smile dancing around his eyes flickered to her mouth, just for a moment, and she ached with wanting to taste it.

He continued slowly as if reciting from memory.

“A man falls off a cliff…”

“Remarkably careless of him.”

He glowered at her without real censure and continued.

“But manages to grab hold of a ledge halfway down. He can’t climb back up and the waters below him are dangerous.”

“A predicament to be sure.”

“Hauling himself up onto the ledge where he is now stranded, he finds it overgrown with wild peaches,” he looked at her intently, his eyes drifting to her lips once again, this time they lingered there, as if he was unable to look away. “What should he do?”

It took Phryne a moment to focus on the question, distracted as she was by Jack’s nearness and the rough bass tones of his beautiful voice. She tried aiming for levity but suspected she had not quite hit the mark.

“Well, that would depend on whether or not he liked peaches.”

“I suspect that after the first taste, he will never be able to get enough. But what would he do when they were all gone?”

“Surely by that time someone will have passed by and offered their assistance?”

“I’m afraid he may be beyond rescue at this point.”

“Then he should take his chances in the water, it might not be as dangerous as he thinks.”

“No?”

“Well there’s only one way to find out. In the meantime, I would suggest he eat his fill,” she murmured, soft and low, her body straining towards him but still not quite touching. They were close enough that she could feel the warmth and the want radiating from him in return, the pull almost irresistible.

If he drew back from her now, she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

He did not.

The kiss was soft at first, not hesitant but gentle, as if giving her the chance to back down if she wished to.

She most certainly did not.

* * *

She tasted of red wine, the flavour heady on his tongue and he chased it, breaching her lips as she stroked his face with slender fingers and his hand slid into her hair. After years of celibacy with barely any intimate contact, to be kissed by two beautiful women in one evening was a little overwhelming.

This second kiss was nothing like the first.

He tried – as Phryne had once told him – to always do the right thing, but the soft brush of Concetta’s lips against his had been the last straw. The final death knell of his denial. It had been all he could do not to cry. She was so beautiful, and so sad, and she deserved so much more than life had given her. But if his failed marriage had taught him anything, it was that those sentiments, heartfelt though they were, fell far short of true partnership, let alone love. He could never have loved Concetta the way she loved him. There were too many dark corners in his heart, and in his history, that he would be duty bound to protect her from.

There was no denial in kissing Phryne, no denial and no more hiding. She had him now, heart, body and mind; every part of him cracked wide open and dragged into sunlight. He had no regrets. He had tried to fight this, tried to run, to hide, to move on, and cold logic be damned, it had not worked.

He pulled her closer until she was straddling his hips and surrendered to blissful desire, his soul at peace, his blood heating as her kisses pumped living warmth through his veins. His free hand had come to rest on her hip, guiding her movements as she writhed tantalisingly above him. But even through the dizzying haze of lust clouding his brain, Jack realised that it was she who was trembling. He drew back, pressing their foreheads together in an attempt to catch his breath and saw tears, shining, bright as diamonds on her flushed cheeks.

“Phryne?” he cupped her face in his hand, brushing the sparkling drops away and bracing himself for her rejection.

“I can’t. I_ won’t_ make promises, Jack. Not if I don’t know I can keep them.”

It was a confession, ripped from her against her will, because there were dark corners in her heart and history, she did not know she could protect him from. He nodded, he had known this, long before he had arrived at her door. If he had not understood and made peace with it, he would never have come.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Just…please be honest? If I’m…if I’m not enough for you. I want to know.”

She drew a shaky breath and nodded. “That I can promise you, Jack Robinson. I love you too much to lie to you. But it, this…it might not be forever.”

He smiled, a little wistfully, “And I love you too much not to find out.”

They were hardly the passionate declarations of young lovers, and nothing like the unreserved commitment Concetta had offered him. Poets would be unlikely to pen verses based around a cautious ‘maybe’. Perhaps that was what made it feel so right. The sentiment was raw and real and honest, the tentative vows of people who had learned the hard way that love – however ardent – is not always enough, and the sweet gift of saying that _this_ love at this time, was worth the risk.

A slow smile spread over Phryne’s face. It was bright, joyful and ever-so-slightly devious. Whatever she was plotting he was certain he was going to enjoy it. She flexed her hips pressing the heat of her sex against his cock, which had risen expectantly to the occasion the moment she had slid onto his lap.

“Although, I must say, inspector,” she whispered into his ear as her hand snaked down between them to stroke him through his trousers, “current evidence suggests you will be _more _than enough for me. Perhaps we should investigate a little further and see what we can uncover?”

He groaned into her mouth as he kissed her again, more blood rushing south as her hands made light work of his trouser buttons. God it had been too long since he had done this. It took all of his considerable self-restraint to pull back, and when he spoke it was in a low growl, rough and rasping as he forced the words out between kisses placed along her jaw and down her neck.

“Not just yet, Miss Fisher. I believe you suggested I should eat my fill, and I intend to.”

“Mmmm, I like the sound of that.”

She moved gracefully off of his lap, releasing him so he could remove his jacket and tie and kneel before her. His hands stroking up over the dark, soft fabric of her trousers, caressing her thighs through the material as he searched for a way to undo them. Jack might have been out of practice, but he was also a detective, and he found the concealed row of hook and eye fasteners running down her left hip after only a few moments exploration. He took considerable satisfaction at the way she was biting her bottom lip in anticipation, her eyes dark and heavy lidded with desire.

He kept the pace slow, wanting to savour every delicious moment. He felt Phryne shiver as he opened her trousers and delighted in the feel of silk and lace beneath his hands as he removed them, taking the opportunity to squeeze her backside and kiss the creamy skin of her thighs. The rich, overpowering scent of desire dripping from her sex was making him light-headed, daring. Her lace embroidered tap pants were black, matching the silky camisole she wore under her sheer blouse and the contrast with her pale skin was like a fairy tale. Snow White with lips as red as the blood, rich, vivid and alive, thumping through his veins and flushing her cheeks as she urged him on.

He pulled her trousers off and cast them aside, turning his attention to the clasps of her garters. He could feel goose-flesh break out over her skin as he slid a single finger under the elastic, unclipping front, then back, front, then back.

“Jaaack…” she wasn’t quite begging, but there was a plea in her voice, and his heart and ego were not the only things to swell at hearing it.

Unable to resist, he rose up to kiss her again, swiftly flicking open every button on her blouse so he could palm her breasts through the thin silk of her camisole. Never one to leave the seduction to others, she whipped it off, her unbound breasts with their tight, rosy nipples an irresistible temptation.

Phryne moaned, arching her back to push her breasts into his palms. Momentarily distracted from his purpose, Jack kissed his way down her neck, nuzzling the space between her breasts, he could smell her perfume, mixed with the rich, intoxicating scent of her arousal. He took a nipple between his lips, batting at it with his tongue, his other hand descending beneath the silk of her knickers to find her wet and ready for him. He toyed with her for several, long, delectable moments, relishing the taste of her skin against his tongue, and the breathy way she gasped out his name as he slowly circled her opening. He barely resisted the urge to fuck her with his fingers till she screamed. He did resist though, there was another flavour, one he had fantasised about on many lonely nights alone in his bed. He needed to taste her.

With a little more urgency than he had intended, he dragged her knickers off, leaving her naked on the chaise, her eyes sparkling, legs spread wide in invitation. Jack knelt once again before her, like a man receiving a sacrament, and the patience which had allowed him to torture her with slow seduction snapped. He pulled her legs over his shoulders, still clothed in shirt and waistcoat, and kissed his way up the soft flesh of her thighs until he could feast upon her, burying his tongue as deep as it would go inside her perfect cunt.

His cock was straining painfully against the wool of his trousers as the taste of her enveloped him, better by far than any fantasy. He set up a steady, relentless rhythm with his thumbs on either side of her swollen clit and sank into the moment as she cursed and panted and finally broke. A wave of ecstasy that made her legs tremble and her hands clench in his hair.

“Oh, god! Jack!” She moaned, her voice hoarse and cracked.

He had always suspected she would be vocal in her appreciation of sex but had not realised how addictive those sounds would be.

“Again,” he growled.

He didn’t know where he got the brazen confidence to give Phryne Fisher orders, but for possibly the first time in their acquaintance she neither objected nor ignored them. He softened his tongue, lapping gently at a spot just above her over sensitive clit and pressed two fingers into her body, each stroke caressing the front of her passage until she came again. It was less forceful than the first, he could tell, a tremble and a low cry not unlike a giggle.

Her fingers were stroking the short hairs at the base of his neck with a touch so tender it almost brought tears to his eyes. He had been right, after tonight he would never be able to get enough of her, yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

* * *

Phryne let herself sink into the soft cushions of the chaise, her muscles lax with release, her skin tingling. Jack was still kneeling between her legs, his deep blue eyes - so often narrowed in suspicion or crinkled in wry appreciation of some clever irony – were wide in artless innocence. He was looking up at her with something like awe.

She blinked her vision back into proper focus and attempted to pull him up to join her. Unfortunately, her muscles were not yet in a position to take instruction from her brain and she ended up sliding down to join him on the carpet instead. She landed with a small bump and a notable absence of her usual effortless grace. Jack’s expression became one of unsurpassed smugness that she was determined to do something about.

She kissed the remains of her arousal from his lips, pressing her body against his, her hands wandering over his chest and arms still hidden away beneath shirt and waistcoat. The rough texture of wool felt strangely intimate against her naked skin, a delicious contrast to the warmth of the hand spanning her waist, fingers tracing up and down her spine.

“You’re a man of hidden talents, inspector. I should have guessed you would have a prestigious appetite.”

“For you, Miss Fisher, I believe it may be insatiable.”

“I like the sound of that,” she purred, “but you should know, you may have competition.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes, I’m positively famished.”

She had managed to open his waistcoat and fully intended to get him naked, however she found herself entirely distracted by the prominent bulge tenting his trousers. She traced the length of him through the staid grey wool, loving the way his eyes darkened and his hips thrust forward into her hand.

“Well, I wouldn’t dream of letting a lady go hungry.”

He was smirking at her. Well that was a surprise. She had had her suspicions when it came to Jack’s French appetites, but thought there was a chance he might resist an attempt to return the favour, perhaps out of some misguided idea of gentlemanly honour. It seemed though, that now he had decided to cross this boundary, he did not intend to deny himself.

Not wanting to waste any time, Phryne made short work of Jack’s braces, unclipping them front and back so she could unbutton his trousers. She licked her lips in anticipation, keeping her eyes on his as she did so, the tension in his jaw had hollowed his cheeks and his eyes were dark and dangerous, glittering in anticipation and excitement. He shifted himself around so his back was to the chaise and he could sit up, lifting his hips so she could divest him of trousers and under-shorts in one swift move, pulling the whole lot off over his shoes and tossing them aside so she could focus on her prize.

And what a prize it was.

Despite her teasing about the night her father’s nerve tonic had left him unconscious in her bed, this was the first time she had seen him without at least his underwear to maintain his modesty. There was nothing modest at all about the magnificent erection rising up between his thighs. Her eyes widened in appreciation as she leant in to breathe cool air over his hot flesh, just to watch him shiver. She looked up, a giddy little smile dancing across her lips.

“My goodness, Jack. However, have you been hiding this for so long?”

The insufferable man smirked at her, tilted his head and shrugged.

“I have a very accomplished tailor.”

“So I can see.”

Not wanting to waste any more time with such a bounty before her, Phryne positioned herself between Jack’s thighs with a teasing little wriggle of her bare backside. Very deliberately, and with her eyes on his to make sure he was watching – as if he would be looking anywhere else – she slipped her hands between her legs, lubricating her fingers one by one, then wrapped them tight around his shaft.

Jack gave a quiet, appreciative moan as she caressed him with both hands. She had heard that sound before - often mixed with praise for the quality of Mr Butler’s cooking – and there was something oddly sweet about hearing it again in such a context. When she finally took the plump head of his cock between her lips though, the way he cursed out her name was both beautiful and entirely new. She ran her tongue lovingly around his head, tracing the lines and contours, not wanting to rush as she explored this delightful new terrain.

His eyes were closed now, his mouth hanging open, one hand gripping the sofa behind him, the other stroking the skin of her shoulder blades. His tender touch was a gentle match to her slow pace as she made love to him with hands and lips and tongue. She might not be sure of much when it came to her future with this man, but she was certain in this moment that she loved him, desperately, and she wanted him to be in no doubt of her feelings for him.

After several highly enjoyable minutes, in which Phryne discovered that Jack could be just as vocal in his pleasure as she could, she decided that a little experimentation was in order. Swallowing him down as deep as she could and then sliding slowly off, one hand still on his shaft, she began to gently massage his balls with the other, her fingers seeking out the sensitive skin that ran behind them.

“_Oh fuck!_ God, Phryne, _fuck_…”

She smiled around his cock in victory as his thighs began to shake and his hips jerked involuntarily, pushing his cock back into her eager mouth. Just a little more… She repeated the move, once, twice…

The third time she ran a single finger between his cheeks, far enough to circle just once around his hole.

He came in her mouth with a shuddering, soul shaking groan that had in all likelihood woken most of the household. The salt taste of him on her tongue was sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine. She drank him down, her body humming and licked him delicately off her lips as she watched him float back down to earth.

The smile that split Jack’s face was open, honest and joyous as he huffed out a small, breathless laugh before pulling her face to his. Their mingled flavours were a mouth-watering ambrosia that danced against her tongue as she licked it into his mouth. He was still wearing his shirt and shoes, but his waistcoat was hanging open and his trousers and tie appeared to be missing in action.

In short, her inspector looked quite deliciously fucked, and Phryne decided on the spot that this was a sight she wanted to see as often as possible, for as long as she could.

“Nightcap, Jack?”, she passed over his glass of wine, her heart squeezing a little at the adorably befuddled expression on his dear face. Love it seemed, had brought this toughest of men completely undone.

Well…mostly love, she did have other talents.

He took the glass by the stem, the cut crystal dwarfed in his large and oh-so-capable hands.

“To eating our fill.” He murmured, and Phryne thought his familiar lopsided smirk looked even more tempting en déshabillé on her parlour floor.

“Oh no Jack,” she whispered, eyes full of promises she fully intended to keep, “not even close.”

“In that case,” he drained his goblet in one, rising unsteadily to his feet and offering her a hand up. “perhaps we should take the rest of the bottle upstairs.”

She beamed at him, delighted at the ease with which he made the suggestion. Now they had finally acted on their desires, somehow, despite the myriad unresolved questions still to answer, everything seemed suddenly simple. It was like falling off a cliff – once you’ve jumped, the rest is easy – provided the waters below are deep enough to catch you.

“Now _that_, inspector, is a rather marvellous suggestion.” She pulled her camisole and tap pants back on whilst Jack was still trying to negotiate his trousers over his shoes.

She bent down, bit gently on his ear and whispered, “race you!” before darting out the door and up the stairs, secure in the knowledge that he would be no more than two steps behind, and always ready to catch her if she fell.


End file.
